Chapter 1 – The Beginning
"Moooommmmmm!!!!!!!!!"
The nine-year-old boy screamed, his voice cracking as he sprinted toward the woman who had just been slain before his eyes. His small feet pounded against the sand of the desolate beach, his eyes wet with grief, yet no matter how much he ran, she seemed farther and farther away.
His cries echoed through the salty air. The chaos of battle momentarily paused, overtaken by the raw agony in his voice. A short distance away, a man—his father—was engaged in furious combat with assassins clad in dark suits and demonic masks. Upon witnessing the woman's fall, the man lost what little restraint he had left and erupted in a storm of rage, felling enemy after enemy.
"Retreat! The task is complete!" barked the leader of the assassins. The others didn't hesitate. Like shadows dissolving into the wind, they vanished into the landscape, leaving behind devastation and unanswered questions.
The man tried to give chase, but it was too late. They were gone.
The boy, still running, kept screaming—"Mom! Mom! Mom!"—as the world around him blurred.
With a sharp gasp, the seventeen-year-old boy awoke. His chest heaved, drenched in sweat. His eyes darted around the darkened room as he struggled to separate dream from memory. The chilling image of his mother's lifeless body and the masked assassins lingered in his mind like a haunting specter.
He wiped his forehead, still shaken. As his breathing slowed, his gaze fell upon a framed photo on the bedside table—his parents, smiling, whole, happy. The contrast pierced him.
Throwing off his blanket, the boy stood up. He moved toward the bathroom, trying to escape the residual fear clouding his thoughts. The opulence of his room slowly became evident—a massive bed, sleek decor, futuristic lighting—it all screamed wealth. But for now, it all felt hollow.
He splashed water on his face and looked at his reflection: jet-black hair, deep brown skin, strong jawline, pouty lips, and striking black eyes framed with long lashes. Athletic, with a defined build—he could easily pass for a celebrity. But his face was marked with something deeper: pain.
He bathed and got dressed—white T-shirt, black pants, a dark blue jacket, and a subtle blue watch. As he stepped out of the room, he tapped the watch. A holographic screen popped up:
07:05 A.M. | 25 April 20XX
He smiled slightly.
Its finally the big day. He thought.
Outside, a long hallway lined with servants greeted him. They bowed slightly and said in unison, "Good morning, young master."
He gave a curteous nod, walking past them into a majestic dining room that looked straight out of a royal palace. The furniture was carved by master craftsmen, and the vibe itself felt expensive.
He sat at the table and scrolled casually through his phone. A maid stood by, waiting. Within minutes, a man entered—a dignified figure in a sharp blue suit, his posture composed, and his eyes calm but piercing. His neatly trimmed moustache and air of silent authority made him seem both powerful and wise.
The man sat down and looked warmly at the boy.
"Happy birthday, Ved. Lead a life of purpose and fulfillment. Live without regrets."
The boy—Ved Sagar—smiled and replied, "Thank you, Dad."
The maid served breakfast—an array of global delicacies cooked to perfection. Ved and his father ate quietly for a moment.
Then his father spoke again. "You know what today means."
Ved nodded. He did.
On the month of their seventeenth birthday, all humans, regardless of race or nation, are randomly drawn into the Nexus Legacies—a mysterious dream dimension hidden from the physical world. This realm is where the legacies of powerful beings—gods, mythical figures, and ancient heroes—are passed on to those deemed worthy.
When a person sleeps for the first time after turning seventeen, they may be pulled into the Nexus Legacies. There, they face trials crafted to challenge their mind, spirit, and essence. The better they perform, the greater the legacy they may receive.
No one knows who created Nexus Legacies. Myths say that gods and demons of every pantheon forged it together—Hindu, Greek, Norse, Egyptian, all woven into its fabric.
Those chosen by a god or mythic figure inherit a legacy, which grants them supernatural powers unique to that entity. Upon receiving it, a glowing tattoo appears somewhere on their body—a symbol of their patron deity. Only the inheritor can see it unless they choose to reveal it. The stronger the legacy, the more powerful the tattoo—and the harder it is to hide its divine weight.
But no one receives a complete legacy at once.
The powers are fragments—granted only if the chosen one proves worthy during the trials. To grow their legacy, they must complete quests or fulfill divine missions over time. Some legacies remain incomplete forever; others grow stronger with each success.
Society itself has evolved around legacy completion. Those with weak legacies take up everyday jobs—engineers, farmers, caretakers. Medium-tier legacy holders rise higher—scientists, artists, elite professionals. But those with powerful legacies and high completion rates become pillars of humanity—guardians of civilization, warriors of justice, leaders in Pax Unio, the organization maintaining world order.
Ved had done his research. He knew the stakes.
They finished breakfast. No more words were needed.
Ved returned to his room silently. He took one last look at the family photo. Then he climbed onto his bed, pulled the sheets over himself, and let his breathing slow.
Puneeth Sagar, his father, stood by the door, watching quietly.
As Ved drifted into sleep, his father whispered, "Chetana, look how fast our son has grown… I know he'll make us proud."
And just like that, the world began to fade around Ved.
Sleep claimed him.
And the Nexus called.